"I'm fine"

those are the words that fall from my mouth as the blade hits my skin

people say I'm pretty, I say that's bullshit

they say I'm skinny, I say you're out of your mind

the truth is I'm not ok, I'm not fine

if you were to look deep into my eyes you would understand

I look at my skin and there is red

red cause from the silver isnt that amazing

they don't ask me how I am because they don't care

I don't want them to ask because i'm scared

I tell everyone I'm fine because i dont want to tell my story 

I look at the blade once again and there is blood on the tip

freash blood ready to be washed away

I fall asleep and it's still there

the cuts have scabbed over

the blood has dried

but the depression is still here

why is it here why didn't it leave, i don't want it, i don't need it

it's just hurting me more feeling this constant pain

the constant ache

the constant worrying

do I look ok?

do I look fat in this?

what will they think about me?

people's opinion matter to me, they hurt but i don't care

i look at the past and wonder where it all went wrong

I climb out of bed and restart this pain

I go on with my day and all i say is "I'm fine"